


Echuir

by Deus_Ex



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Battle of Five Armies, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Mirkwood, Porn With Plot, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Thranduil is a slut for Bard, Thranduil's a slut period, Wake-Up Sex, why do i do these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deus_Ex/pseuds/Deus_Ex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Echuir: Awakening.  Sindar.  Early spring.</p><p>Five times waking up next to Thranduil wasn't what Bard expected, and one time it was everything he dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echuir

Five times waking up next to Thranduil wasn't what Bard thought it would be, and one time it was everything he'd dreamed of.

\----- 1

The first time Bard woke up next to Thranduil, he'd had no idea what to do with himself. Blushing furiously, beginning to sit up and halting when he realized there was weight across his chest, the bargeman tried to swallow down the lump in his throat and get his suddenly-racing mind under control. A single glance down told him that he wasn't going to be going anywhere any time soon: Thranduil was sound asleep, golden head pillowed on Bard's chest, one arm slung lazily across the toned planes of his abdomen. He was beautiful, gorgeous, and the most serene Bard had ever seen him, somehow looking even younger due to the relief of the stress that so frequently plagued his features. Bard couldn't appreciate it, though, wracked with worry as he was for falling asleep in the Elvening's bed. They were in his tent in the temporary settlement the elves had set up at the foot of Erebor, and nothing separated them from the prying eyes of others but a few sheets of canvas. Bard was well aware that he wasn't supposed to be there; but Thranduil was really the only one whose opinion mattered. Everyone else, yes, he'd prefer to keep things private-it wasn't anyone else's business who he slept with; he had no wife left to answer to, and therefore the only other person who needed to approve was his partner-but while Thranduil had agreed quite enthusiastically to their love-making, he wasn't sure how the elf would feel about Bard unwittingly sharing his bed.

It added a permanence to it, Bard thought to himself, gaze desperately flickering back and forth around the tent like an answer would be hung in decorated parchment written in elegant script on the wall somewhere. To sleep with someone in the lustful sense was all well and good, but to sleep with them in a more innocent sense spoke of a level of trust that wasn't typical between two people who each needed someone and happened to fall into each other's arms. This didn't feel as honest and open and trusting as waking up next to someone: it felt awkward and uncomfortable and uncertain. They needed to have a conversation about what this was, what it had been intended to be, and where it was intended to go, but obviously that couldn't happen until Thranduil woke up, and Bard wasn't going to be the one to wake him. How heavily did the Elvenking sleep, anyway? Could he weasel his way out from underneath the elf and sneak out before the blonde came to? Would Thranduil be more upset to wake up and still find him here, or wake up and find his bed cold and empty? Bard's head was spinning, and he hadn't the faintest clue what to do. Well, he actually wanted to get up and run from the tent screaming and pretend like it had never happened...but that was hardly an option, was it?

He wasn't sure if it was mercy or a curse that Thranduil's brilliant eyes chose just then to flicker open, weaving a long, slow path over the tent and his surroundings before coming to rest on the chest and stomach that he had been draped across. Nothing in his expression indicated distress, aggravation, or even confusion: he simply looked Bard over once, gracefully twisted his body to turn over and stretch, and simply greeted, "Good morning."

The only thing Bard could think at that moment was, _What do I do?_ Thranduil was acting like this wasn't a big deal-like they'd done this dozens of times before and thought nothing of another. But they _hadn't_ don't this before, and there was no precedent, and there was no way he could play it off like that, not with how flustered he already was. But the seconds were stretching on and on and on, and he needed to say _something_ because if he didn't, Thranduil was going to think that there was something wrong with him, or worse, that he hadn't enjoyed it or didn't want to do it again-

"Hi," he stupidly blurted out, immediately wanting nothing more than to have someone hit him over the head with a club. Or a large rock. Or anything, really, but just...something to knock some sense into him! "So...um...I-"

"It's fine," Thranduil said easily, if not a bit clipped and possibly annoyed. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"I-yes-...but-"

"It's fine," Thranduil repeated, and before Bard knew what was happening, the ethereal creature he'd finally managed to bed was slipping away, sitting up and standing from the bed, unashamed in his nudity, and walking away from him. This was everything Bard had dreaded-seeing Thranduil's back to him, seeing him walk away, and knowing that he was losing the gorgeous elf he'd spent so long yearning for-

"Wait!"

Thranduil barely paused to turn to him, already pulling his pants back on. "I don't mind," he said, tone flat and even and so, so impersonal that it burned. "Do what you need to. Surely the great Dragon-slayer is needed elsewhere."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Bard desperately stammered. Without thinking, he lurched from the bed, feeling like he was diving after Thranduil as he grabbed the elf's arm and pulled him back towards him, spinning him around and feeling like he was falling away even as he drew him nearer. "Please, I-...I just...have to ask..." How did he even phrase this question? To his credit, Thranduil's only prompt was a single raised brow and a slight lowering of his head. Bard knew the king well enough by now to know that this was his reminder that his patience was finite, but that for now, Bard had his attention. He wouldn't lose it again.

"I want to do this again," Bard finally declared, unable to think of anything other than blunt honesty. "I...I enjoyed this, and I...I don't want you to think...you're beautiful, really, and-"

Realization dawned on Thranduil with a brilliant, radiant smile, and Bard had to wonder in that split second if Thranduil had perhaps been holding his breath on Bard as much as Bard had been holding his breath on Thranduil. The elf's method of silencing his doubts was to lean down and press his lips to Bard's, a sweet, gentle, chaste kiss, but one that was quite capable of shutting him up rather definitively. There wasn't any room for shock anymore: there was only the relief as Bard melted into Thranduil's mouth, all of the tension draining out of him as Thranduil soothed away all of his worries and doubts.

"You are welcome at any time," he murmured, and placed another, swifter kiss against Bard's lips, as if to seal a promise. "Please, do come back, as I would love to do this again as well." With the air cleared between them, Thranduil offered Bard one more smile, much more peaceful and honest than the last, and prompted, "But for now, we both have duties to attend to, and I am certain your children are wondering where you are. Go to them, for now: and I shall hope to see you within the next few nights."

Bard had never loathed to leave Thranduil's tent so much, but he was able to console himself with the knowledge that every step that carried him farther away also carried him closer to the next time they could fall into each other again. And if men and elves alike eyes him curiously as he made his walk back home, hair tousled and certainly reeking of sweat and sex, well, that was just their problem.

\----- 2

The next time Bard woke up next to Thranduil was significantly more calm. He'd invited the King of Mirkwood to his coronation, several months after the Battle of the Five Armies, and hosted a great celebration in what parts of Dale had been rebuilt. The winter had been long and hard, but the aid the elves had delivered to them had not been in vain. The dwarves had kept to their promise too and given the man the share of the treasure they were owed, plus a bit of extra for their troubles and to help them become a flourishing city once again. Bard had made sure that everyone had a place to live and a job to do and started creating an economy for the newly-resurrected city of Dale, and before he knew it, spring had come and gone and the first batch of crops had been planted (from seeds courtesy of the elves,) and the days were growing long and warm. While all acknowledged Bard well as the king of the town, many were beginning to whisper of needing something official. For tradition's sake. As reluctant as he was, Bard eventually agreed, and that was how he ended up retreating from the party and falling into bed with Thranduil once again.

The Elvenking had keened beautifully for more as he laid his hands on his body, gasping and thrashing and moaning filth and depravity in a language so beautiful even the most crass of curses would sound like the songs of angels. It had been too long, far too long, since Bard had been able to push his fingers inside of his love, tease him open, and then fill him with his throbbing length, marking him with his mouth so that even a blind man could tell that Thranduil was his and his alone, and both of them were dying for it. It was even better that this time, Bard got to christen his own bed with their tryst-it felt right to see platinum blonde hair splayed across the pillows instead of auburn. Even though he missed that auburn dearly, missed the smooth curves of his wife's body and the rugged toughness of her physique, he was at a new stage in his life and it felt like this was fitting to that new stage. He still loved his wife with all his heart, may she rest in peace-but she would have wanted him to move on and raise their children and be happy. She wouldn't have begrudged him this act in an entirely new bed. The one they had shared had been small and plain, but just as tough as they were and, while austere, served its purpose beautifully. This bed, though, was large and extravagant, and still the plainest one Bard could find. It was magnificent, set in the midst of a sprawling room in a spacious castle and everything Bard never wanted but that Thranduil just looked so right in the middle of.

Fond memories, fresh from moments before he fell asleep, tickled Bard's mind as he rolled over and pulled his lover closer, placing a kiss against the fine silken hair that somehow cooperated perfectly even in sleep. Thranduil barely stirred, and Bard felt a smile quirk at one corner of his lips. The elf lord was a beauty indeed, and it would be a shame to wake him. Bard was more than content to lay quietly with Thranduil in his arms, silently admiring the smooth curve of the elf's spine as it swelled around his shoulders, bowed into his lover back, and then swelled again into a deliciously full rump that disappeared beneath the sheets-

"Da!"

The door banged open and Bard had just enough time to curse the fact that one of his children was still too young to know the virtue of knocking before Tilda made a spectacular leap onto the bed, landing right on top of both him and Thranduil. Bard immediately released a pained groan, doubling over and trying to shield Thranduil from the worst of it as Tilda clambered about giggling and squealing. Stiff and sore from their vigorous activity the night before, trying to keep the sheets from slipping and exposing their nudity, Bard was struggling to juggle Tilda and Thranduil when the Elvenking decided to wake.

It was a significantly more graceful process than Bard's was: Thranduil sat up in a sinuous unfolding of long limbs, immediately wrapped his arms around Tilda, and pulled her into his lap, tamping down her squirming and resistance without effort. When he bent his neck to peer over her shoulder, his hair fell in one golden waterfall over his shoulder, and his eyes were alight with mischief and joy as he said, "Good morning, Miss Tilda! I shall see to it immediately that your father gets a lock for his door, and we will be using it from now on! Have you not yet learned the virtue of knocking, child?"

Bard was counting his blessings right then and there, and counting Thranduil about five times. The man was such a natural father, taking everything his kids threw at him in stride and easily turning it all around. It was plain to see that he was an experienced parent, having spent years wrestling his own wayward children. Or child, Bard reminded himself. It was hard to imagine Legolas being a handful, though: he was always so polite and mature that Bard found it difficult to keep in mind that, but Elven standards, Legolas was still quite young indeed.

"Tilda! Tilda, where did you go?"

"She's in here," Thranduil called back to Sigrid, before Bard could subtly send Tilda off and hope against all hope that they could still keep this subtle. Thranduil must have caught his panicked look, because he smiled and finally released Tilda to run back out of the room so he could lean over and whisper to Bard, "Your children had to know at some point. My advice is to just let it happen naturally." As the flush colored Bard's cheeks, Thranduil leaned in for an impeccably-timed kiss, short, chaste, and to-the-point, but maddeningly present and ever-so-inviting. Sigrid happened to appear in the doorway at that moment, still working on reeling in an very excited Tilda; she caught Bard's gaze just as he was looking frantically to he doorway, hoping she hadn't seen. But instead of anger or bewilderment or accusation or disgust, he saw only a soft, accepting smile-and then, she stepped away, Tilda in tow, leaving Bard to gasp out a thanks to whatever god would hear him and Thranduil to chuckle with bemusement at his side.

"They were raised well," Thranduil remarked, turning back to Bard and placing one hand on the mattress on the other side of his body to lean over him. As attractive a sight as this was, Bard had to say, he did still prefer to see (and feel) Thranduil coming undone on his fingers and his length beneath him. "They do not judge a man for who he beds in love...they only see the happiness between two lovers, and care not for the stigmas of Men. They will make fine rulers themselves someday."

"Aye," Bard agreed. Unable to help himself, he arched up and met Thranduil for a quick kiss, grinning into his lover's mouth and following his motions as his Elven lover lowered himself to an elbow. Sinking back down into the pillows, Bard set his hands on Thranduil's hips as the elf swung a leg over to rest just above his pelvis, idly pressing his thumbs into the natural crease where Thranduil's muscle met his hips and rubbing little circles into the divot.

This time, when Bain interrupted by poking his head in, crying, "Gross!! Why do you guys have to kiss all the time?!!" and running away again, they could only laugh.

\----- 3

Bard was fortunate enough to have Thranduil in his bed again the next time they saw each other. Proper etiquette would have required him to make the trip to Mirkwood, as Thranduil had traveled last time, but the Elvenking had sworn he hadn't minded, and so Bard found himself hosting elves again as the heat of summer began to wave, and the windows, left open, finally began to close again against the early-morning chill. The air was crisper, more refreshing, and Bard had finally ceased to sweat an embarrassingly-excessive amount while he slept. His bedsheets had been washed and were now, thankfully, smelling like clean soap again, and tumbling into them with his elf in his arms had never been more of a pleasure. He didn't expect the clean to last long, not between the two of them, but at least he could say it started that way.

While he and Thranduil were in bed together, he didn't think he'd ever really stop sweating. The elf was insatiable, and had significantly more endurance than him. It got to the point that Bard would stop everything and tease Thranduil mercilessly to use up a bit more of his energy while conserving his own. While he had to be privy to this knowledge, Thranduil pretended he was not, often whining in frustration, turning Bard over, and impaling himself on his length, roughly thrusting down against Bard's hips as he desperately chased release. As beautiful as it was to see Thranduil with his head thrown back in euphoria, hair cascading over his shoulders, back arched, and eyes closed in overwhelming pleasure, Bard had actually had to follow through on his threats to tie Thranduil down to be able to keep up, which had only seemed to spur the Elevenking on harder-and some of the filth that spewed from his mouth as Bard made good on his threats was downright sinful. "Now, where did a fine, civilized, high-class member of the Sindar Elven royal family learn to talk like that?" Bard had chastised, even as he tied Thranduil's wrists to the spindles in the headboard of his bed.

"The women of the Rangers of the North enjoy much more freedom than many women in these parts," Thranduil gasped, hooking an ankle around Bard's legs and pulling futilely in an effort to bring him closer. "They didn't know I wore a crown...and so didn't hesitate to show me the wildest sex I've ever had. Now, if you don't mind, I am aching for your touch, and once is not enough for me. Not after spending so long without."

Bard had finally managed to wear Thranduil out after some creativity and no shortage of threats for gags. As much as Bard adored his lover's vocal tendencies, he didn't need half the town woken up and alerted to what they were doing. Thranduil barely kept quiet enough to limit the noise to the walls of the bedroom, but he accomplished it well enough that Bard wasn't concerned. At last, Thranduil went boneless after climaxing, breath coming quickly but deeper now as the high-strung energy seemed to leak out of him as Bard milked the last of his pleasure from him with one hand as he softened in his lover's body. Releasing Thranduil from the rope around his wrists, he was relieved to find that Thranduil climbed right into his arms and promptly fell asleep, leaving him with a few moments to wonder who else knew just how deeply the Elvenking fell into lustful depravity in the bedroom before falling asleep himself.

He'd meant to awaken before the passing of the first morning hour; they both had. Thranduil had come because he had meant to re-negotiate some trade agreements with Dain, who had taken over Erebor and the dwarves who lived in the kingdom under the mountain in Thorin's stead. The day needed to start, but they weren't quite ready to begin yet. The day waited for no one, though, as evidenced by the knock at Bard's door that woke Bard and not Thranduil.

"Who is it?" Bard called, knowing it wasn't one of his children because...well, because of the sheer fact that knocking had preceded arrival.

"Galion, of King Thranduil's service, Lord Bard."

Spoken like an elf; only strictly what was necessary, answering the question and giving no more but no less. Sighing roughly, Bard returned, "Just a moment, please," and very carefully slid himself out from underneath Thranduil. He was noticing that it was a trend of the Elvenking's: he liked to sleep with his head on Bard's chest, an arm across his middle, and always with his right side down. Somehow, Bard managed to escape his lover's grasping hands and not-inconsequential weight; hissing slightly as he withdrew, Bard took a moment to draw the covers up to Thranduil's ribs, seeking to preserve a bit of his modesty. The mere word brought up some very un-modest images, graphic recollections from the night before, and Bard had to furiously tamp down his desires as he scrambled about for something to throw on to make himself even remotely presentable. At last, he stumbled across a light robe, meant for use before and after bathing. Well, it was opaque, and covered everything that it needed to, even if it was a lightweight black silk. Sighing, Bard drew the garment around his nude body and approached the door, opening it just wide enough to avoid arousing suspicion but keeping it closed as much as he could. "Yes?" he asked the russet-haired elf who stood in the doorway.

"Merely requesting the king's presence," the elf called Galion said simply at Bard's inquiry. "Your children, ahem...directed me here."

If Bard blushed furiously at that, angrily raked his fingers through his hair, and cursed quietly, he'd never admit it. Sighing roughly, he couldn't help but ask, "Who else, ah...knows about-?"

"Only me, sir. And, apparently, your children."

Sighing again, Bard's lips pressed into a thin line that was trying to be a smile and failing miserably. With one hand resting on the door and the other on his hip, he tried again: "I'd appreciate it if..."

"Sir, I practically raised His Highness. We both like to pretend the other doesn't know a lot of things. But rest assured, I have seen and said not a word."

Bard was simultaneously relieved and curious, but opted to let it go for the moment. "Right," he grunted. "One moment, please. He's difficult to persuade out of bed."

"My sympathies. I have been on the receiving end of his early morning wrath more often than I would have enjoyed to be."

Bard couldn't stifle a quick bark of laughter as he turned around and made his way back to the bed, but he was just going to do as he had been doing: going about his business and pretending that it was all on the up-and-up. Sitting down on the edge of the bed on Thranduil's side, Bard couldn't contain the grin that split his face as Thranduil immediately turned over, wrapped an arm around his waist, and pressed his face into his hip. "Love, we need to get up," he murmured, one hand falling to Thranduil's shoulder and gently massaging at the muscle there. He wondered if it was sore from being strained last night...no, not now! "It's an hour past sunrise already...and the dwarves aren't going to make this easy. Come on, the earlier we get started, the earlier we finish."

He received an aggravated grumble for his troubles, and something muttered under his breath in Elvish. Casting a hopeless gaze to a smug-looking Galion, Bard found himself left with the advice: "Tell him I'm here," as if Thranduil wasn't awake enough to hear.

"Love, Galion is asking for you. He says he needs you up, and to tell you that he's here."

This earned a snarl, but a reaction: by some miracle, Thranduil began to pull himself out of bed, still grumbling and grouching but up all the same. He didn't even bother pulling a blanket from the bed to mask his nudity: he simply stood in all his naked glory and began wandering around the room, shamelessly gathering clothing into his arms and meandering about as things caught his eye. Bard couldn't remember stripping that many layers off of the king, but he supposed some unnecessary details got a bit lost in the haze last night. Rising from the edge of the bed himself, he crossed the room once more to Galion, who he had left standing at the door. Despite the fact that Thranduil could likely hear anyway, he lowered his voice to murmur, "I apologize-we both meant to be up already, and it's not your duty to have to-"

"But it is," Galion interrupted smoothly, with a smile that was far more placid and content than it ought to have been. As if the elf could read his mind, his smile widened and his eyes brightened and he remarked, "Fear not, Master Bard...I wiped his bottom as a babe, I spanked the same rear end as an obstinate child, I tutored him through every stubborn assignment in writing and history and arithmetic, I took his measurements for his first armor and first sword, I was present at the birth of his only son, and I held him as he wept for his beloved wife. Seeing him nude and grumpy in the morning after a night with a loved one is one of the more pleasant sights I've seen from him."

Blushing, Bard could only duck his head, chew his lip, and look away. He'd never suspected he'd ever learn that much about the King of Mirkwood in his lifetime, but he supposed these things came with least expected. One thing was for sure, though...he would have to become friends with this elf Galion. It sounded like he had a wealth of stories that he would enjoy hearing.

\----- 4

Waking up in Thranduil's chambers always seemed to be much more peaceful than waking up in his own. There was magic here, and there was privacy, the likes of which Bard was entirely unable to find in his own residence. There could be no mistake: he adored his children, and he was grateful as ever for the opportunity to rule over the people of Dale and be the first king on the throne of Men in the fine city for over a hundred years. But whenever he roused with the sun filtering through the dark curtains and heard the scuffle of feet outside his door, he was forced to mentally brace himself and quietly shake Thranduil awake to warn him of the impending attack by small child. Not to mention that, more often than not, when Thranduil was in Bard's city, it meant that he was there on business. Every now and then, the two of them could make up some excuse and sneak around a bit after making a bit of a show to satisfy the prying eyes of Bard's subjects to satisfy their mutual desires for each other, but the eyes of men were both watchful and judgmental, and driven by an unholy curiosity that Bard could frequently be found cursing. Thranduil's attitude towards it was far less high-strung than Bard's, perhaps having had centuries of experience from which to draw-but Bard couldn't shake the constant, pressing worry that someone might clue in to the true nature of his relationship with the Elvenking.

Things were altogether more relaxed in Mirkwood. No stigmas surrounded the nature of their relationship, and better yet, no one regarded it as their business. So if Bard and Thranduil were seen walking through the halls together after business as usual had been completed, well, no one thought anything of it. As long as the two of them weren't falling over each other peeling clothes off in the halls, no assumptions were made and no brows were raised. It was a refreshing change, and Bard only wished he could make the journey to Mirkwood more frequently. Between the pleasant atmosphere of the people around them and the quiet peacefulness of residing in a city literally woven out of tree roots, Bard was coming to love the Elven city under the ground more with every visit.

He always expected to wake up slowly, breathing in clean, earthy air and feeling the warm, comforting weight of his lover on his chest. Though underground, his body still knew well the rising and setting of the sun-when living in a town as poor as Laketown, one rose early to maximize the daylight and minimize the oil and candles burned. It was wired into Bard's brain by now to rise naturally with or even before the sun, and it was no trouble at all for him to accomplish. So when he woke up to Thranduil's weight suddenly leaving his chest and his lover speaking hurriedly in Elvish, he sat up as quickly as he could and looked to Thranduil for explanation, brow furrowing in confusion. Galion was still bent over the bed, dark hair falling neatly on either side of his face where it wasn't tied up in braids, answering some question of Thranduil's as the king fought his way free of the bedsheets and got out of bed with poise and grace that Bard hadn't seen him display so soon after rising since they had started sharing a bed.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, gaze turning to Galion as Thranduil's expression was wiped into a careful neutrality. He wouldn't be getting anything out of his blonde-haired lover; not now, when he was hastening to dress and make himself presentable without looking like he was rushing.

"I'm afraid you'd best be rising as well, my lord," Galion said by way of answer, with a wrung, tight-lipped smile. "One of His Highness's captains has returned from patrolling our borders...it isn't pretty."

Bard was instantly throwing back the rest of the sheets and blankets and climbing from bed. By now, Galion had seen both him and Thranduil post-tryst, and the other elf had never even crooked a smile at either of them, bless his heart. Bard was certain that the angry red welts raised by Thranduil's nails still raked down his back in great furrows, but he no longer cared for shielding himself from Galion's eyes as he scurried around the room picking up clothing that, for once, was all conveniently in the same location. It was understood immediately between them, unsaid, that Thranduil would need Bard's support as he dealt with what could possibly be disaster waiting for him just outside the walls of their fortress. This bedroom was a sanctuary to them, where they could reunite after what was often months apart. It was where any word could be spoken and met with openness, where no action was too extreme and where they did not have to stand on ceremony with each other. Where hands could wander and lips could press, and where bodies could collide in a stellar meeting of heated skin and hours-long couplings. Outside these four walls, however, a return to the stern, cold, detached king was necessary. Having been inside, though, Bard could tell now just how much it taxed Thranduil to have to be that way. He would do anything in his power to ease the burden that slumped his love's shoulders.

It wasn't the first time they'd woken in a hurry with their hearts in their throats, and certainly wouldn't be the last. But Bard would stop, every single time, just before he turned the knob to open the door to catch Thranduil's wrist in his hand, pull the Elvenking around to face him, and drag him into a deep, slow kiss, one that he knew would take the edge off the worry creasing the elf's brow. "Stop worrying," he whispered to him, barely parting enough that their lips no longer brushed as they spoke. "Everything will be fine."

And if Thranduil's gaze seemed a bit less weary as they swept out of his bedchambers, Bard wouldn't say a word. Just seeing it was enough for him.

\----- 5

He was used to waking up with Thranduil in his arms by now; it was just the way things were these days. Especially in the majestic, towering Elven halls, where the ceilings were so high up they appeared beyond reach and the windows spanned the entirety of its height. Bard still didn't know how the double-doors that served as the entry into Thranduil's magnificent bedroom were as light as they were, but he himself could open them with the press of a finger and nary a sound. The whole palace was silent, as soundless as its occupants as they ghosted over tree branches and wove through the greenery of the forests. It had been unnerving at first, but now it was peaceful. Bard had swiftly developed an appreciation and a taste for the quiet; it was a welcome respite from the constant hurrying, hustling and bustling of the human town of Dale. He loved his city dearly, each one of its inhabitants a close friend of his, not to mention his children. But being a king was exhausting, and unlike Thranduil, he hadn't had thousands of years to perfect the art of gracefully and effectively ruling while still maintaining some semblance of sanity. It was overwhelming at times, but the rewarding moments made up for it...for the most part.

Moments like these, though, were much what Bard preferred. He was a man of simple tastes: a quiet, relaxing morning, waking up naturally, with his beloved in his...not in his arms. Frowning, Bard looked down with confusion mired upon his features, his eyes confirming what his body had told him: Thranduil had left their bed. (His bed? Their bed?) Where could he have gone? And better yet, how had he managed to sneak out without waking Bard? As a father, Bard had evolved into a light sleeper very quickly. His children's voices alone could now get him out of bed faster than the bed being on fire could. So how in the world could Thranduil have simply...gotten up and walked out? Elves, Bard thought ruefully to himself. Quiet as mice and just as secretive. In their own little world, in their own little headspace...

As his brain was busy filling itself with half-hearted grousing and grouching and his body kept in motion by fumbling with the blankets to get warm again, Bard almost missed the tiny slip of motion in the corner of his eye that alerted him to Thranduil's re-entry. Or someone's first entry. As it was, Bard was facing away when the door opened, turning over and sliding back to center himself in the soft mattress that he would swear was made of cloud and try to get the blanket to do the same. He only happened to catch the slide of the door as it swung shut again, and only out of the corner of his eyes. Turning to look behind him, at first nothing more than a glance, Bard found himself stopping where he was as a smile overcame his face. His hand, raised to pull and fuss with the covers, fell slowly, and his body turned over again, the other way this time, to rest on his back. Palms fell to the mattress, fingers curling in to knead against the impossible softness as blankets and sheets settled again. And then, the edge of the bed dipped under the weight of another body, and long limbs gracefully folded into a sitting posture as Thranduil perched on the spacious bed.

Bard would never tire of looking at his Elven lover. All elves were lovely, ethereal creatures, granted, but Thranduil had a whole different look to him that set him apart even more. Whereas the other elves held an aura of being made from the earth, more humble and naturalistic in presence, Thranduil walked and comported himself and even simply _appeared_ as if he were...something more. The other elves seemed separate from, but still born of this same world that Bard was. Thranduil, on the other hand, held an air of pure starlight about him, as if he had come not from the earth but from the heavens. His platinum hair shimmered and rippled in the light with a healthy sheen, seemingly impervious to tangling; his icy blue eyes cut through walls or defenses, saw through lies, and laid bare everything of a person instantly. His body was an impossible combination of steely strength and yielding softness, but perhaps the latter was only reserved for Bard. Still, the Elvenking was a wellspring of power somehow tapered and made elegant through fine control and years of experience that made him altogether a more refined image. He was beautiful, stunning, captivating...and Bard hadn't the faintest clue what he was doing with a simple bowman such as himself. Of course, the human man wasn't in the business of looking a gift horse in the mouth. It was just hard to believe sometimes.

Especially now, when Thranduil looked exceptionally alluring. After three thousand years in this body, he'd figured out to the best way to sit and all the best angles to display to show himself off to the fullest of his potential,a nd he utilized it shamelessly. Sitting with one leg folded over the other, his spine arched and bent in a serpentine twist, one hand taking his weight against the bed and the other draped over his leg, all brought together by the slight cant of his head that sent his beautiful hair falling over one shoulder...Bard couldn't have figured out how to pose that well if given twice Thranduil's time and all of his beauty. And the crowning touch was the robe Thranduil wore, very loosely draped about his shoulders and barely held closed in the front by the flawless placement of his arm, slipping off the shoulder that rose next to his pointed ear to prop him up. And it was Bard's.

It was a simpler robe, as Bard wasn't one for ostentatious clothing or gratuitous accessories. Deep indigo, navy blue, trimmed with gold and silver, no pattern, thick fabric. Bard couldn't have put a name to any of it if he tried, but one of the women in the town had come up with it and he'd graciously accepted. It was enough to still fit in with the rest of the royalty he was often doomed to suffer, but not so much that he felt uncomfortable in it. He'd repaid the woman kindly with a basket of breads and cheeses left on her doorstep. He later found out that Thranduil had, unbeknownst to anyone but the elf lord and his escort, added a few fruits and vegetables to the basket before sending it along its way. Later, he had told Bard that his compliments went to the woman, as she'd created a fine garment that suited him well. Apparently, Thranduil's comments had not been for show.

"Couldn't find yours?" Bard teased, sitting up a bit more against the multitude of pillows against the headboard of the bed.

"No," Thranduil murmured, his voice meant to be just-woken-up-tired but coming out coy in spite of his best efforts. The little spark in his eye was all that gave it away, but Bard knew Thranduil inside and out by now. To the unfamiliar eye, Thranduil had no tells whatsoever. But no one was perfect, and with time and patience, Thranduil could in fact become readable. Not completely-no, never completely. Three thousand years had made him far too good for that. But there were cracks to be found in his mask. "You did such a good job of getting it off that I forgot where you managed to cast it."

"Likely under the bed," Bard remarked easily, beckoning to Thranduil with one hand as he finally gave in to temptation and reclined against the pillows. "Or perhaps hanging from the chandelier." The magnificent structure hanging from the ceiling operated solely on magic, Bard was convinced. It had to hold two hundred candles, and Bard hadn't the faintest clue how they could be lit given the sheer number and the height.

"If the sight of my body is truly enough to give you strength beyond that of ordinary men, I shall have to be careful how often and the manner in which I disrobe in your presence in the future."

"I hope that means it'll be happening more often," Bard quipped, letting a crooked grin begin to quirk his lips. His expression was mirrored, and Thranduil finally responded to his summons, slinking across the mattress in coiling, undulating movements that carried him across the space between them as if he glided on air and not on any surface Bard could traverse. In the smoothness of his movements, he once again shed his clothing, revealing absolutely nothing beneath his borrowed robe; reaching Bard, whose eyes had widened and fixated on him, Thranduil reached out with one long-fingered hand, hooked a finger around the blankets, pulled them away from Bard, and swung a leg over his hips. Transfixed, head tipping back to follow Thranduil's elevation above him, Bard found his hands coming to rest against Thranduil's bare hips, skin smooth as satin and cool as silk against his palms. Hovering for a moment, Thranduil stared down at Bard with something ambiguous in his eyes; Bard didn't even try to decipher it. Instead, he waited patiently, having learned by now to wait out these moments and let things come to him in time. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Thranduil released a tiny puff of breath, leaned down, and pressed his lips against Bard's. The bowman eagerly accepted the kiss he was offered, parting his lips and letting their tongues dance between their joined mouths. It was the most interesting thing and also the strangest: as cool as Thranduil's skin was to his touch, everything beneath his skin was a raging fire, all burning heat and flames of passion just waiting to be fanned and awoken by Bard's touch. His lips were lukewarm against his own, but the tongue that wrapped around his was just as warm, if not hotter.

The angle changed as Thranduil leaned forward, dropping his weight into his pelvis and finally bringing his body into contact with Bard's. Even though he'd moved the blankets down, they still covered Bard's lap, and the mortal had never cursed them more. They were both nude and wanting-God knew Bard couldn't resist even the sight of Thranduil-and right now the friction would feel divine. Moaning softly, the sound absorbed by their joined lips, Bard used the grip he had on Thranduil's hips to pull his lover's weight down into him as he simultaneously rose, bucking up into the pressure. Thranduil responded eagerly with a deep whine of need and a grind of his own. Hands impatiently pawed at sheets and blankets until they had been messily pooled around Bard's knees; then, without further warning, Thranduil rocked forward and sank down around Bard's length.

Entirely unexpected, only half-hard, it was all Bard could do to savagely bite into his lover lip and restrain a cry of ecstasy that would have woken the dead. Trembling violently for several seconds, overcome with the onslaught, Bard found himself releasing Thranduil's hips to instead fist his hands into the sheets, one leg bending at the knee to bracket Thranduil from behind as hips rose to press into his lover again. Thranduil's passage had been easy, with Bard not quite full yet and having been rigorously bedded only several hours prior-and God, Bard could still feel the oil coating the insides of Thranduil's passage, a bit of it still slicking his thighs and rear from how sloppy they'd gotten in their desperate coupling-and the elf immediately picked up a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth to let Bard slide from his body before pushing back in. Bard was in heaven-his pretty lover in his lap, eagerly impaling himself on his rapidly-engorging length and whimpering like Bard's cock was the only thing keeping him alive.

It didn't take long for either of them to finish. Something about morning sex always seemed to make them over-eager and exceptionally lustful. Filling Thranduil's body with his climax again, Bard rode out Thranduil's own finish with soft whispers and gentle strokes along his ribs. He had learned quickly that these moments were vulnerable for the Elvenking. For whatever reason, Thranduil was always weak to any emotional blow that might come immediately after sex with someone. Bard suspected it had led to a lot of hasty departures in the past, but he refused. He always stubbornly wound his arms around his love, even as the worry began to crease his brow and melt the ice in his eyes until they were liquid pools of cobalt-blue. He held him close and told him how beautiful he was, how privileged he was to have him in his arms and in his life and in his heart, and how he loved every moment he spent with him. Strong fingers would card through silken hair, parting tangles and smoothing snarls caused by intense love-making and soothing away any worries or troubles that might arise. In the end, his efforts were always rewarded: Thranduil would relax again, swelling with pride and happiness, and contentedly melt into his arms and doze off.

One thing was different this time, though: this time, Bard poked Thranduil back awake when he saw eyes drifting closed.

"As much as I love seeing you calm and happy, love, we are out of time for sleeping," Bard remarked, amusement coloring his voice at the discontented grimace Thranduil offered. "We need to get up; it must be two hours past sunrise. We've been asleep far too long."

"No, everyone thinks we've been asleep," Thranduil pointed out cheekily. "What we've actually been doing has been...a combination of things."

Bard couldn't resist a quick bark of laughter at this. "This is true," he consented, the amusement audible in his voice as he spoke. Bending his neck, he lowered his head enough to press a kiss against the golden locks pillowed on his chest, and his arms tightened around the elegant form in his arms. "Even so, we will be missed shortly, and I don't think you want Galion to have to come chasing after us again."

Thranduil visibly shuddered in Bard's arms at the mention. "I don't know if I feel worse for him or for us," he sighed, remembering vividly the time his trusted servant and confidant had gotten fed up with waiting for him and, despite orders, come to retrieve Thranduil and Bard for the day to begin, only to find them being quite intimate. To his credit, Galion had simply walked away and waited patiently for Thranduil and Bard to finish and emerge, but he had yet to stop teasing Thranduil. "It'll go away," Thranduil had sighed in resignation when Galion had made his first comment, something much too forward for an underling to say to a king. "He practically raised me, so I've grown rather fond of him. He takes advantage of it, and I can't even say anything because he knew me when I was a snot-nosed little whelp no older than your Tilda. I was not so well-behaved."

As always, it was the threat of Galion that got Thranduil up and moving again, wiping himself down with a damp cloth before wandering around the room locating clothing. Eventually, he gave up when he only found half of it and, assuming the other half was in the hallway somewhere, ended up simply finding something clean to wear. As much as Bard wished he could stop and stare, he reluctantly gathered his own clothing and re-dressed, trying to steal glimpses of Thranduil's lithe form as they both milled about making themselves decent.

"I liked the blue on you," Bard mused absently as he pulled the thick, outer robe over his shoulders and Thranduil emerged from behind a towering wardrobe, brushing out his hair. "You wear silver and red a lot...and it's lovely, believe me, but something darker doesn't look bad at all." All he got was a hum of consideration as they exited the room, just in time to intercept Galion coming down the hall towards them. After threatening them both with more compromising positions, Thranduil's right-hand whisked them away to the first of their duties for the day, and all thoughts of Elvenkings made of starlight cloaked in the night sky vanished from Bard's mind.

He still shouldn't have been surprised when he came back to the room later that evening to find Thranduil lounging on the bed, wearing nothing but a black robe and smirking like the devil himself.

\----- +1

Every time Bard had woken up in Thranduil's bed, he'd woken up slowly, calmly, placidly, and with the elf lord sprawled across his chest with an arm wrapped around him. It was a delightfully peaceful, deceivingly-domestic scene from the two men, but Bard would take simple pleasure from wherever he could get it these days. In his mind, there was nothing like waking up in the massive, sprawling bed of the Elvenking, still riding a bit of the resting high from whatever tryst they'd indulged in last night, feeling the pleasant ache in his muscles that served as a sweet reminder of what exactly had made them sleep like babies for the evening. Bard wouldn't trade that sort of morning for the world. So when he awoke rather abruptly, coiled tense as a wire, his first thought was confusion. His mind was still muddied and foggy from being so quickly pulled from sleep, and it took him a few seconds to realize why exactly he'd woken.

His first realization was that he was hard. Painfully so. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire from being so heated, despite having lost the covers at some point during the night. Thranduil's slight weight was missing from his chest, as was the brush of silken hair and the gentle squeeze of an arm about his middle. Reaching out, Bard found his hands falling to empty bed on either side of him, and his fingers curled into the sheets in an attempt to ground himself. Damn it, why _was_ he so aroused? Normally he wouldn't wake up like this, to any degree. But to this extent...something had happened to bring him to this state, and it wasn't something of his.

Opening his eyes with a soft moan of pain/pleasure, Bard risked glancing down towards his loins in some vain hope that an answer might be written on his body. He didn't expect there to be, but instincts couldn't be overpowered when his mind was running on half the capacity it ought to. To Bard's pleasant surprise, there was in fact a clear solution as to his current state; and to his jaw-dropping pleasure, it was a marvelous answer indeed. Thranduil had taken advantage of the fact that they had fallen asleep nude and slithered down the length of Bard's still-sleeping form to wrap his lips around his cock and swallow him down. He must have been dreaming, and when Thranduil awoke and discovered the evidence, well...Bard couldn't complete the thought, groaning much more audibly and bucking his hips into his lover's mouth, try as he might to restrain himself. Words were far beyond him at this point, as was self-control. He'd come to at the crucial moment of no return, and he had a feeling that Thranduil had planned it that way.

But if his lover wasn't a sight! There was something about Thranduil that this, the most submissive of acts, still could not make him look entirely tame. Well in-hand, yes, but never quite docile. Golden hair fell to one side, giving Bard a perfect view of his sex disappearing between soft pink lips as dark eyelashes fluttered over porcelain cheeks and blue eyes sparked with a hint of mischief and smug self-approval. One elegant hand gracefully danced in brushing patterns across Bard's thigh; the other, the bowman could feel beneath his opposite leg, kneading into the soft flesh and deep muscle to coax him into coming closer. The sight itself was what pushed Bard over the edge: throwing his head back, barely restraining a cry of ecstasy as he finished, he spilled himself down his lover's throat with a violent shudder and tremor.

Thranduil took every drop he had to offer and drank it down like a man in the desert emerging to find a lake beyond the sands. The motions of his throat contracting and rippling around Bard only served to wring another trembling shiver out of him; overstimulated, mind sufficiently blown into blankness and white, Bard could only give a short bark of surprise and pleasure and _too much_ as Thranduil drew his lips off of him and let his softening length slide from his mouth. Sensitive, even the contact of flopping back against his own stomach made Bard hiss and flinch; Thranduil, looking entirely too pleased with himself, smirked and climbed the length of Bard's body like a snaking vine to settle into his arms where he usually lay. After a moment of laying there unacknowledged, the Elvenking huffed slightly, picked up Bard's arm himself, and slung it around his shoulders. Still trembling slightly in the wake of his orgasm, Bard could only squeeze his fingers around Thranduil's bicep and try to catch his breath again.

"Morning."

A breathless laugh escaped him, and Bard could finally summon the strength to turn over and lay his other arm across his lover. "You are just too damn proud of yourself," he grunted, even as he fondly nuzzled into silky blonde hair. The smugness coming off of Thranduil was tangible, and Bard could taste it in the air.

"Have I not reason to be?" Thranduil purred, sounding every bit as contented as Bard would think he was.

"Yes...yes, you have plenty of reason."

They fell silent again, this time to allow the tension to drain away. Thranduil wasn't impatiently grinding against him, so Bard let him lie. If he wanted his, he wouldn't hesitate to ask for it...or demand it. When Thranduil wanted something, he was difficult to deny. Whether it was due to the soft spot in Bard's heart for him or because he was incredibly good at what he did and how he spoke, Bard didn't know. But he liked to avoid situations where their interests conflicted, because he seldom won those battles. He'd simply learned to choose them wisely.

"Let me guess...you woke up before I did...became impatient and bored...discovered what a man often wakes up with...and decided it was fair game."

It wasn't even a question, but a statement, and Thranduil found himself chuckling at it. "You know me too well," he confessed, tipping his head back to press his lips against the groove in Bard's throat. Sighing out softly, going boneless against the plush mattress, Bard found himself leaning into the intimate caress as easily as Thranduil melted into his hands when they bracketed his hips and told him _exactly_ how to move.

"But there's one thing I still don't know," Bard confessed, fighting the temptation of Thranduil's all-too-skilled mouth for at least a few minutes more. "Why would Thranduil, the Ice King of the Mirkwood Forests, ruler of thousands of years, control-freak-extraordinaire...willingly lie beneath the King of Dale, a ruler so wet behind the ears he is still looking for ways to get out of it and a mortal man barely three decades of this earth?"

This question, posed with a light-hearted tone and a deeper core, brought a smile to Thranduil's face as he once again sat up, slipped free of Bard's hands like water through a sieve, and set a hand and a knee on either side of him to taunt him with the proximity of their bare and close nether regions, as well as the barely-there tickle of golden hair against his shoulders. Leaning down over him, forcing him to tip his head back to follow their piercing gaze, Thranduil replied in a smooth, silky whisper, "Because I damn well wanted to. Is that not reason enough?"

The smile was contagious: Bard found himself grinning at the response, wrapping his arms around the elf's shoulders and pulling him down to press their lips together in a bold expression of just how much he desired his lover. Thranduil's entire body relaxed in a long, smooth ripple: it passed right under Bard's hands, and just feeling the elf go soft and pliant was the best reward for anything he could do to him. Whenever Bard put his hands on Thranduil, this was the outcome he was hoping for. To end up languidly kissing, smooth palms and strong fingers working over a stronger body, the dull, easy, calm of having freshly climaxed settling deep into their bones...this was heaven for Bard, and he suspected that it was as close as it would get for Thranduil.

When the Elvenking broke apart to rest his forehead against Bard's, the bowman allowed it, happy for the moment to simply hold his lover against him and revel in the sweet knowledge that he was there and he was just as happy to be there as Bard. There was a comfort in simply having one's beloved in their arms, knowing they were there and having tangible confirmation of that blissful fact. The warm weight of Thranduil's body settled slowly and carefully against Bard's, always with his right cheek pressed to his chest-and Bard ran his fingers over the upturned cheek, keeping his touches gentle and fleeting, for he knew what lay beneath the glamour-and Bard bowed his head to press another kiss against Thranduil's forehead.

It was all the peace they managed to get that day-Galion came by not five minutes later to knock politely on the door and call through the thick slab of wood that the two kings were needed, and if they could finish up and get dressed and make an appearance, that would be much appreciated, thank you. And as much as they griped and groused about sacrificing time they could have spent together, it was the slowest and most pleasurable morning they'd had in a long time. They climbed out of bed but took their time making themselves presentable, moving with the languid sluggishness of people who were a bit too comfortable where they'd been before. Slowly, they each cleaned themselves up, washing faces and hands and rinsing out their mouths; clothes were found and either put away or put on; hair was carefully brushed and arranged. Bard would grouch about how Thranduil's always looked perfect, and the Elvenking would sit him down and work some manner of witchcraft or wizardry to make his half-curling black locks appear neat and tidy yet still with the flair of character that they could have at times. Bard would turn and kiss his love, placing his magnificent crown upon his head, and then they would share one last long, intimate kiss before leaving the room. Galion could be found waiting down the hallway, making himself look busy and expertly masking his impatience before he shooed them off to whatever duties needed to be attended to today. And throughout the entire day, they'd be sharing minute, brushing touches and meaningful gazes, ones that would look like nothing to the unfamiliar eye but would send sharp zings of elation through each other. And then, at the end of the day, when all was said and done, they would fall into each other again, collapsing on the bed with exhaustion and relief both, and they'd remain tangled in each other's arms until morning rose again.

Suddenly, waking up was Bard's favorite time of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I pretty much see Galion as Thranduil's Alfred (like, with Bruce Wayne and Batman, not the skeeze-bag from Laketown with the first-class unibrow.) Also, I wrote #3 while listening to Cherry Pie by Warrant, and I'm pretty sure it shows, and I'm pretty sure I don't give a shit. It was fun. Title is Sindar for "Awakening," which I thought was cute, but whatever. You didn't come here for the title, you came here for the smut. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. Hope you all enjoyed; thank you, as always, to all my readers, everyone who leaves me kudos, comments, and bookmarks, and everyone who also contributes to this wonderful fandom. Also, for the love of God, someone teach me Elvish.


End file.
